Loose ends
by axabat
Summary: Are you getting closer?" Nice way of asking how long it will take to finally kill his baby brother. Might as well be honest. "No, not really." Elricest.
1. Behind a broken frame

**Loose ends.**

by axbatwilo

Warnings : elricest, possible smut in later chapters.

Notes : sort of manga verse, more manga than anime anyway.

Disclaimer : don't own fma.

* * *

**Prologue : Behind a broken frame.**

The pale silvery beam of moonlight disappears for a small amount of seconds before feebly illuminating the interior of the small shack again, suddenly not so abandoned anymore. The intruder casts a look around the place, might have grunted in displeasure at the rusty gardening tools and excessive amount of cobwebs, but doesn't. no one's listening anyway and he's too worn out for it to provide any satisfaction. He makes himself comfortable, as much as he can. He doesn't really care; he'll be gone in the morning and he's not one to need a plushy bed to fall asleep. But first he has to read the newspaper he nicked out of a mailbox. He has to read it thoroughly, wrestle through all the insignificant little articles. It surely isn't the hardest reading he's ever done, but it's boring as hell.

There's no escaping it, though, for he might find another clue. _He_ likes to give him clues, after all, and to make him search relentlessly for it, in the tiniest of places.

Tonight, though, he isn't anywhere near lucky. Halfway through the paper, he falls asleep. Amber eyes close in exhaustion, unaware of the copper ones watching him from the shadows, though the frame of the door that wouldn't close.

The boy outside sighs, disappointed, then slides gracefully inside the cabin. He kneels down next to the sleeping blonde; his moves are easy, confident, fluid. Always fluid. He touches the dirty hair, almost tenderly, eyes wide in awe only emphasizing the innocence radiating from his boyish features.

Carefully, he pulls the newspaper from underneath the sleeping young man, and searches for the right page that he puts in evidence in front of the blonde after writing a short message. He had no trouble finding a pen in the small travelling bag. He tucks the boy in more comfortably, and whispers a goodnight.

He leaves then, not wanting to linger, and the grin on his face is anything but kind.

* * *

The prologue title comes from Muse - sunburn.


	2. No rest for the weary

**Chapter one: no rest for the weary.**

_  
I've always wanted to do that._

Sunlight creeps in, along with the humming of an awakening world.  
Amber eyes open lazily, and stare vaguely into nothingness while the almost unnoticeable beginning of a smile plays along half-open lips. It's an expression that hasn't crossed that face for months and it doesn't last either; smiling is a mask he doesn't even bother to put on these days; contentment is a feeling he has desire nor need to remember; weariness is like a heavy coat he can never quite shake off, that crushes his shoulders and heart from dawn to dusk, heaved only by the sheer strength of his will.  
Presently, he freezes when he notices the neatly outspread newspaper in front of him. _He_ has been here this night. While he was sleeping. Edward can't repress the slight shiver that creeps up his spine. As for the matter at hand, an article has been encircled. Next to it, Al wrote: Don't wear yourself out, brother. You have to take care of yourself.  
Reminiscence from other times; a memory comes to the surface. One of the numerous times armour-Al had said something along these lines to him. It was in Central, while he was digging through a stack of books late at night. Al kept insisting that he should go to bed. He refused to listen, he wasn't even tired, he _had_ to finish that bloody book, and he _would_. Al had actually gotten mad, lifted him up, and carried him over his shoulder screaming and flailing all the way back to their hotel. Even mad-Alphonse was caring-Alphonse.

_Don't you love me, niisan?  
_

He shakes all those thoughts - memories - from his mind; they will do him no good.

The article relates the disappearance of a little blonde girl, Maya something - described notably as wearing a red coat - as she was playing near a cathedral. It happened in a small tourist-drawing city, known for its monuments and original architecture, only a few hours' travel away.  
The cathedral is easy to find. Unfortunately, he arrives mid-morning, which is too late to be unnoticed.  
When he enters the cathedral, shocked faces turn towards him and he catches a glimpse of an atrociously mangled body, most likely unrecognizable except for the blonde hair which shade is disturbingly like his own.

_You don't recognize me, niisan?  
_

Two ominous-looking officers approach him, mistrustful. He watches them warily, yet compliant of what's to come. They say: You shouldn't be here. They say: People saw someone looking just like you leave the cathedral this morning. He wore a red coat. They ask: Are you the Fullmetal alchemist? Where were you this morning, this night? What are you doing here?  
His name has become something people don't like to speak out loud anymore. The stories don't relate the alchemist of the people's latest just and brave actions, standing up for those whose rights are stepped upon. He stands up only for himself now, and even then, barely. So he does not argue when they put him in handcuffs. The military guy that seems to be in charge looks at him with all the contempt he can muster, yet Edward barely notices.

Later, after endless interrogation, meaning shouts, threats, and a general ineffective taunting between impatient military dogs and an uncooperative alchemist, a phone call settles it. Meanwhile, the day is far gone, his empty stomach growls as he takes over the phone, reluctantly.  
"Edward? How are you?" That fucking used-to-be-Colonel has taken on a habit of calling him by his first name, the concern in his voice no longer hidden behind any biting sarcasm.  
"Spiffing," Edward answers mockingly. He doesn't like pity. He doesn't like heartfelt sympathy. Especially coming from the holy bastard.  
"Edward," the Col - pardon, _General_ continues, unperturbed. "You should eb more careful. I won't always be there to get you out of trouble, you know. You're a civilian now, I can't always step in for you."  
"Well don't, then. I'm not asking you anything," Edward says, rude as can be.  
It is silent for a moment. Then: "Are you getting closer?"  
Nice way of asking him how much time it will take to finally kill his baby brother.  
Might as well be honest. "No, not really."  
"Well, anyway, take care of yourself, Edward," Mustang says, hollow voice, already knowing it won't change anything, not now, not anymore.  
"Yeah, sure," he answers, mechanically. "See you around, Colonel."  
It isn't until he's hung up that he realizes he's done it again. Apparently some part of his brain doesn't want the Colonel to be anything but a Colonel.  
The soldiers still look at him suspiciously, but have no choice. Can't ignore a direct order, after all.  
"Was there a message?" Edward remembers to ask. The guy that has shouted at him for two hours straight is the one to give him an answer. A rude one. Edward thinks _the hell with this_, grabs the asshole by the collar and shoves him up the wall.  
There was a message.

_Water is treacherous, hiding creatures that seduce and steal your heart away from mine. _

_Come on, little red riding hood, the wolf is waiting and he runs faster than you.  
_

The message is kind of silly, actually. And creepy. He doesn't even wear the bloody coat anymore. He wouldn't want to wear it even if Al hadn't taken it. The soldiers watch him go, defiance in their eyes, knowing that he didn't kill the girl, that he's hunting the killer instead; yet glaring at at him as if he's the guilty one, the monster, the one by whom everything started, and for the life of him he can't blame them, can't disagree, nor can he feel wronged by their hatred.


End file.
